Hidden Blades and Hidden Worlds
by nyxes
Summary: Desmond has been given a second chance to stop Juno and the powers to do so. With an old ally by his side, he just needs to learn how to use them. (Summary and character list will change as story is updated.) Updates are gonna come out a lot slower, due to my laptop breaking.
1. Limbo Party!

**Chapter 1: Limbo Party!**

Desmond was dead. At least, that's what he thought. After touching the pedestal, it was to be expected and his surroundings did resemble most stereotyped afterlives.

Everywhere was white. Not blindingly so, otherwise he would've considered that he was actually in some kind of messed up Hell where his eyes were being cruelly punished for all the bad deeds he'd committed. There was just a formless white mist as far as the eye could see. It seemed so surreal, almost like being in the Animus again, but it was more personal matters that really got his attention.

Desmond realised he was completely naked.

Feeling very self conscious, he sprung like a loaded trap into the fetal position, hiding his manly parts from any unseen eyes. His own eyes frantically scoured the empty space for something wearable and settled on a pile of neatly folded clothes.

_Strange_, he thought. He would have sworn that they weren't there before.

After donning the familiar black T-shirt, jeans and white hoodie, he noticed that the mist was becoming something more solid. Four walls and a roof enclosed him as furniture filled the empty room. A bar sat in the corner of the mostly deserted room. Behind it were shelves stacked to capacity with bottles of varying liquids, most alcoholic. Tables were spread around the fringes of the room and the door to outside stood in front of him invitingly. Everything was very white.

The place looked familiar, and something itched in the back of his mind, like he should know where he was. After a moment of intense pondering, it clicked. Desmond couldn't believe it took him as long as it did but then again, it felt like a lifetime ago. In a way, it _was_ a lifetime ago. He was in an exact replica of Bad Weather, the nightclub he worked in before he was kidnapped by Abstergo and was once again caught up in the Assassin/Templar war. It was completely devoid of life, except for him and two somewhat familiar figures sitting at a table.

Desmond approached the supposedly long dead 'gods'. "Where are we?" he asked.

"That is a question only you can answer," Jupiter replied, his helmet reminding the human of the beaked hoods his ancestors wore. "Sit with us, Desmond," the 'god' said, pulling out a third chair for the Assassin. Desmond did as he was told.

"It looks like a bar I used to work at," said Desmond, "Just white and empty... And a lot cleaner," he added as an afterthought.

Minerva faintly smiled at the last comment before replying, "Limbo always takes on a different appearance to each person."

"Limbo?" Desmond asked, uncomprehending, before it sunk in, "...I'm really dead, aren't I?"

"Yes and no," Jupiter answered.

"In the living world, then yes. By your standards, your body is technically dead. However, your soul has not passed on yet," elaborated Minerva.

"Passed on?" said Desmond.

"Do you choose to keep on working?" Jupiter mused, pointing at the bar before gesturing towards the door, "Or is it the end of your shift?"

"I just have to hop behind the counter and I'll be alive again?" Desmond enquired, hopeful. The rational side of his brain told him that it just wouldn't be that easy. Experience had taught him that whenever the First Civilisation was involved, things were never simple.

"Not quite," answered Minerva, "The pedestal burned out your former body, making it inhabitable."

"So, I'll just be a ghost or something," said the former bartender, disappointment evident in his voice.

Minerva shook her head. "Only certain types of people have access to that option. Muggles such as yourself need a vessel to inhabit in order to exist in the mortal plane."

"...So I can't go back," stated Desmond, silently debating whether what she just called him was an insult or a compliment. He assumed it was the former. "Then why the heck did you have to tell me all that?" he exclaimed, leaning back on two chair legs and throwing his hands up, "What's wrong with just letting me move o-?"

"Because we can't, not with Juno free!" Jupiter shouted, shooting an accusing glare at the human's direction.

"What the heck am I supposed to do? I'm dead and can't go back, remember? Or did you forget that one tiny detail when you were too busy planning on how to hijack someone else's life for your own purposes?" said Desmond, "Or here's a smart idea, why can't someone el-!"

"We can help you go back!" interjected Jupiter. That got Desmond's attention, as his chair clattered noisily back onto four legs.

"But you just said-" he started, only to be cut off once again.

"All we said is that you require a body to inhabit, and your old one is uninhabitable. Thus, you need a new vessel. That is where we come in, on one condition. Use this chance to stop Juno and we shall make you a new one, a better one," explained Minerva.

"How? And what do you mean 'better'?" asked Desmond.

Minerva hesitated, unsure on how to phrase her words. Jupiter stepped in. "Being us has its advantages. Desmond," he said, "Do you believe in magic?"

Desmond stared at them. "Of course not," he said, "Anything considered such is just a scam or the result of POE activity. Right?" he added uncertainly.

Jupiter shook his head. "Members of the First Civilisation had the ability to manipulate objects and people by utilising an... aura, for lack of better words, that only we were born with. Humans and even hybrids such as yourself lacked it. That is, until Hecate started tinkering with her hybrid offspring. She discovered a certain gene of ours that was rendered dormant with the addition of human DNA. Once activated, the humans in question generated an aura weaker than ours and were able to employ it, albeit with the assistance of aids. Without them, unless they have the necessary expertise, they couldn't perform or control their powers with any precision."

"So, using these powers, you're going to make me a new body and modify it so I can use 'magic' as well?" said Desmond, the whole thing seeming absurd to him. Then again, 6 months ago, if someone told him he'd be kidnapped by a pharmaceutical company hellbent on conquering the world, be drawn into a war that's been going on behind the scenes for thousands of years, use a device created by an ancient, extinct race of godlike beings to control humans and sacrifice himself to save the Earth from an apocalyptic solar flare, he would've asked them if they were drunk.

"Indeed," said Jupiter.

"According to Hecate's research, the gene in question is independent and much more hereditary than those required to activate our POEs and Eagle Vision, so there is a high chance of a colony of witches and wizards living in the world nowadays. From them, you can learn how to utilise your powers. However, just in case, we will also be bringing back someone to help you learn," informed Minerva.

"Who?" said Desmond, his curiosity aroused.

"You will find out in due time," Jupiter mysteriously replied, a twinkle in his eye, "Do not worry. You will be able to trust him. Now go." He held a hand out towards the bar. "Ready to keep on working?"

Desmond got out of his chair, its legs scraping against the floor as it slid back, and took a few hesitant steps towards the counter before a thought crossed his mind.

"If you are able to bring people back from the dead," he said, twisting his head around, "Why don't you just resurrect yourselves?"

"We do not bring people back from the dead," Minerva corrected, "Once a soul has moved on, it requires magic far greater than our own to call it back. Also, to answer your question, although you were created in our image, our bodies are far more complex than a mere human's. We are unwilling to test what happens when a soul inhabits a body not designed for it."

"After Aita..." Jupiter trailed off, his and Minerva's eyes clouding at the thought. Despite it happening long ago, it was still a sore point for the both of them. Time, instead of healing the wound, only made it worse. With very little to occupy themselves in the emptiness of Limbo, they've had a long time to reflect on their failure at preventing the First Disaster.

"Oh," Desmond simply said, feeling awkward. He opened the doorway and walked though.

* * *

"So this.. Desmond you speak of, you say he requires my assistance?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"A friend once told me about a man named Desmond. He said a moving painting of Minerva spoke to him as if Desmond was listening through him."

"He was. Ezio was his eyes and ears, the Prophet for my warning."

"If everything is as dire as you say, then it would be wrong for me not to return."

"It is even worse. Ultimately, you Assassins fight for free will. If you do not go, then you would fail and it would be taken from everyone. Not only Templars strive for dominance."

"If your words are only lies, then returning would be condemning myself to walk the Earth forever."

"Now is not the time to play sceptic. What do we have to gain by lying to you?"

"My many enemies would like to see me suffer for eternity."

"None of them can do what we can. We do not mean you any harm. All we wish to do is to stop Juno."

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Our powers are not strong enough to send us back. We cannot build the vessel needed to hold our souls. If Desmond fails, then all will be lost. He will need your help to stop Juno."

...

"Si, I will do as you asked." Then he returned.

* * *

**I can just tell I'm going to regret starting this (especially with no plot in mind), but this idea has been floating around in my head for a while. Wonder if anyone will actually find this...**


	2. Rise and Shine

**Chapter 2: Rise and Shine**

**Warning: May contain OoCness from my nooby self.**

* * *

Desmond woke up to a room he'd never seen before. It was almost as if someone had dumped him into a bedroom from the 1980s. The bed he was laying on had a plush, floral print doona and the frilly curtains covering the only window in the room were made out a matching fabric. However, things such as the quiet flat screen TV playing a raunchy music video in English and an outdated women's magazine plastered with Kim Kardashian assured the Assassin that his father hadn't stuck him in the Animus again without his consent. Something stirred next to him, the springs in the queen sized mattress creaking ominously with the movement.

_So this is who they returned with me, _Desmond thought.

He saw a boy aged somewhere between 14 and 16 years old, turned away from him and with short, dark brown hair. The back of his neck, uncovered by his hair, showed his skin was of an olive tone. He was dressed simply in an undyed cotton t-shirt, shorts made out of some slightly darker fabric and no shoes. Looking down on himself, Desmond saw he was dressed similarly to him and he whispered a prayer of thanks to Minerva and Jupiter. If they didn't have the foresight to provide them with clothes, it would've made waking up in a double bed a whole lot more awkward.

"_You will be able to trust him," _Jupiter had said. Being faced with a supposedly magical kid who he'd never seen before, Desmond hoped he was right.

Not wanting to wake up his companion and possibly interfere with Minerva's and Jupiter's work, Desmond slowly slid off the bed, wincing with each squeak the mattress gave off and the pins and needles in his limbs. Adding to the difficulty, each movement he made felt awkward and uncoordinated, as if he was driving someone else's car or wearing a new pair of shoes. Despite this, he managed to get both feet on the floor without waking the other guy up.

The musty shag carpet felt weird against his bare feet, like he was standing on some large, mustard coloured, very hairy monster. Rubbing his arms in an attempt to boost circulation, he took the time to closely observe his surroundings. The wooden bed was easily the largest item in the small, rectangular room and had two matching bedside tables, which on top of one was an old, white corded phone, a magazine and a lacy lamp which was turned on. The curtained window was parallel to the boy's side of the bed. Against the wall on the opposite side of the room was an ugly, brown mini-fridge, on which the small plasma TV was set on top of. Upon noticing a plain wooden door with a bronze door chain and lock, Desmond deducted he was probably in a motel room or something of the like. There was another similar looking door in the room but unlike the other it had no locks. He assumed it led into a bathroom.

Desmond picked up the receiver of the large, plastic phone and dialled in a number. He half-heartedly watched Ke$ha writhe about on a mattress, wearing nothing but skimpy white underwear as he waited for his dad to pick up. How long had it been since he had died? Minerva and Jupiter hadn't said anything about how long he'd been in Limbo or the amount of time it would take to make his body. Had it been days, months or even years? Maybe Shaun, Rebecca and his dad were still getting away from the Grand Temple and everything had just taken place in the space of a few seconds. He didn't know. The phone stopped beeping.

"Who's this?" said Bill, voice guarded. Desmond wasn't surprised. It was a private number and most Assassins would usually contact their Mentor by email as it was easier and cheaper. Also not surprisingly, Desmond could hear Shaun and Rebecca bickering about something in the background. He took a deep breath before answering. For some reason, he was nervous.

"Hey Dad," Desmond softly replied. Silence gripped the line so his mind took to filling in the gaps with his thoughts. Did his father recognise his voice? Had he convinced himself that he was hallucinating and hearing what he wanted to hear? Maybe he thought he had misheard or this was just a cruel joke?

"Desmond?" his father asked. His weary voice was so full of hope and pain and Desmond was surprised at how old he sounded.

"That's me." He faintly smiled, despite knowing the person on the other end can't see him. More silence except for the muffled mutterings of Shaun and Rebecca. Desmond realised the room was way too dark and gloomy for his liking, even with the only lamp on, so he walked up to the curtains to open them. The phone's curly cord stretched out behind him.

"Where are you?" asked Bill.

"I ha-," Desmond had begun saying when he tore the curtains open. He was about to tell his father that he had no idea. The room was bathed in pale sunlight. In the distance, the Big Ben stood proudly against the cloudy sky. The Assassin blinked at the landmark. "...I think I might be in London," he finished, finding it hard to believe the words leaving his mouth.

"London?" Desmond could hear the surprise in his voice, no matter how hard his father had tried to conceal it. "How?"

Desmond scratched his head. He knew the question didn't just relate to his sudden relocation to Europe. "I'm not completely sure. After I died, I spoke with Minerva and Jupiter." He paused. Explaining what happened over someone else's phone line wasn't a good idea. "Look, it's probably not safe for me to talk right now. Any chance you can send someone to pick me up?"

"Our only cell in England had just gone dark. We'll go get you. Stay where you are and play it safe. The Templars are most likely looking for you. Don't give them a reason to take a closer look at London."

"Okay." The line went dead.

Desmond replaced the phone back in its base.

"So you are Desmond," a heavily accented voice said in Italian. Desmond almost jumped.

He spun around and saw that the kid had woken up. His eyes were a gun metal grey, almost purple, and were focused on him. They were immensely deep and seemed to hold knowledge Desmond couldn't dream of comprehending. They were the eyes of a killer, Desmond realised. He was staring into the eyes of a fellow Assassin. The kid's voice sounded familiar but he couldn't figure out why. A memory stirred in the back of his head.

"Yes. You are?" Desmond said in Italian, his experience as Ezio paying off. He wasn't sure if the kid understood English.

"I assumed Jupiter would've told you about me. No matter," the kid replied, "I have been sent to help teach you _magia_." A smile played on his lips. "People have called me many things, but you may call me La Volpe."

Desmond stared at the de-aged Assassin. It strangely made sense. Shaun had said in his database entries that most data around him was seemingly mythical. Then again, so was magic. Since it was Minerva who knew he would have been snooping around in Ezio's memories, she would've known that La Volpe could be trusted and would've told Jupiter. He was so young though... Suddenly, a thought struck Desmond and he rushed to the window. The transparent glass reflected a 16 year old him. A finger traced where the scar on his lip used to be, his arm tattoo-free. He looked almost exactly the same as when he had run away from the Farm, finally sick of his distant father's dictatorship.

"I guess we've been de-aged," Desmond distantly observed.

La Volpe looked down on his hands, seeing they were wrinkle-free and back at the teenager in front of him. His back also lacked the constant aches he had gotten used to in his older years. "It appears you are correct," he replied.

Desmond wondered how his father was going to react.

* * *

"I have a feeling we have both forgotten to tell them something," said Jupiter.

Minerva rubbed her temples. Even with Jupiter's help, it took a great deal of energy to form the two bodies. It was physically and mentally exhausting but with the next world constantly beckoning her, she could not afford to rest, no matter how much she'd like to. She could not leave and join her brethren, not yet. Not until she knew her and Jupiter's plan had worked. Still, it did not leave her in much of a mood to deal with any 'unnecessary' questions.

"It does not matter," she curtly replied, "It is far too late."

Jupiter sat on the ground with his pounding head in his hands. Limbo was in its empty form, as he had named it. Thick white clouds covered the unseen floor. He tried to remember what they had forgotten, but his head refused to cooperate. Like his companion, he too was feeling the strain. Creating the two vessels was hard work, even if they didn't fully develop them. He and Minerva had decided to leave the bodies at an age that reduced the effort needed to make them yet allowed them to do most tasks nee-

Oh. So that was it.

* * *

**This story already has three favourites, which is three more than I had expected. *dances* Kudos to LorenaAuditore, Mad About The Boro and Outcaste. You people made my day (which shows what a sad life I live, lol).**


	3. Reunion

Assassins learnt how to adapt to changing situations at an early age. It was an essential skill in a career where difficulties tend to spring up like weeds and quick decisions often meant the difference between life and death. La Volpe had been in this business for a long time and with his resurrection, he planned on working for the Assassins for longer still. Experience had taught him the value of a fast body and an even faster mind. He was used to thinking on the go and improvising when things went downhill. Why should today be different?

He knew why Minerva and Jupiter had sent him back but their conversation was brief and contained only the essentials. All he knew about Desmond was that he needed help and that he had something to do with the Vatican Vault. Waking up on the most comfortable bed he'd ever experienced was certainly an upside but the black box talking in a different language and the strangely decorated room came as a shock. Still, he hid it well, not that the teenager talking into some weird white box in his hand had noticed he had even moved. He could be very stealthy when he wanted to and even the great Ezio Auditore couldn't hear him coming if he didn't want to be heard. When he'd recovered from his shock and the man had stopped talking to the inanimate object, he had chosen introduced himself. He hoped that Desmond could speak Italian; otherwise it would've made things a lot more difficult.

Turns out, Desmond could, although his accent was unmistakably foreign and he sounded unused to saying the words. He also realised that they had both been reverted to adolescence, much do his obvious surprise and La Volpe silent delight. Age had weakened his bones and worn away at his body. His wizarding blood meant he aged slower than his fellow man but the accumulative years eventually took their toll. It felt amazing to be in his youth again, to move without the constant aches in his back and stiffness in his joints.

La Volpe knew he was in what could only be the future. The strange furnishings and the room remaining comfortably warm despite the storm beginning to brew outside only served to confirm his theory. There were so many new things here that he'd never even dreamed of existing. He doubted that even Leonardo, the genius artist and inventor that Ezio often talked about, would have even thought about some of the strange contraptions located in this small room. Feigning knowledge and not inquiring about such objects would only do him harm.

"Che cos'è?" he asked, pointing at the white box Desmond had been talking into. It was now on top of a larger box, sitting in a groove seemingly designed for that sole purpose.

"Un... telephone," replied Desmond, first racking his head for the word in Italian before realising he would have no idea. His knowledge of the language was linked to Ezio's and there was no way the deceased Assassin would know.

"What?" La Volpe asked.

"You talk to people through it," Desmond somewhat explained, "I've called someone to come pick us up." He went on his hands and knees, and crawled under the bed in search of the TV remote. He wasn't a big fan of the annoyingly catchy song it was blaring out.

"Who?"

Desmond paused for a fraction of a second as he debated his reply. "Assassins, like us."

La Volpe raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think La Volpe is an Assassin?"

Oh, nothing, I just went through decades worth of Ezio's memories in a massive breach of privacy. "I have heard of you before," he instead vaguely replied.

"Like what?"

"Crazy things,like..." Desmond racked his head. What did Shaun put in his database entries? "You can see through buildings, you robbed the Papal carriage without anybody noticing and you were seen on three different rooftops at the same time."

The Fox smirked. "They are all true. In time, I can teach you how to do all those things. What's that?" he asked, pointing at the moving painting inside of a black box made out of an unknown, shiny material. He felt disgusted at the woman it depicted who was wearing even less clothes than the harlots of his age and acting even worse than them. Where did decency go?

Desmond swore as he hit his head crawling out from under the bed, plastic remote clutched in his hand like some kind of trophy. Why he didn't just change the channel manually, he didn't know. He looked up at where La Volpe was pointing. "A television," he tried to explain. "It shows moving pictures." He brought up the electronic program guide on the screen and flicked through it before settling on a show that didn't sound half-bad. It was then he realised he was hungry.

He walked over to the mini-fridge and began rifling through it. It was sparsely stocked, with a six pack of lemonade, a packet of chips and for some reason, a plastic bag full of grapes. He threw the packet of chips onto the bed, narrowly missing La Volpe before taking out two soft drink cans. The fruit remained untouched. After saving the world, Desmond felt he had deserved the right to pig out.

"Vuoi un drink?" he asked, waving about the lemonade.

"Si," was the reply. A can flew in the Italian Assassin's direction and was caught.

Desmond sat at the foot of the bed and opened the packet of chips. His eyes were glued on the cheesy soap opera playing out on the TV screen. It was a secret passion of his, one that he had no intention of letting anyone know. Rebecca would just laugh, Shaun didn't need even more verbal ammo against him and his dad would probably just be disappointed. He didn't even know why he first started watching it around nine years ago. Maybe it was because of the morbid entertainment he got out of watching other people go through strife. When he was sixteen, it distracted him from all the problems he had faced after running away from the Farm: I have no idea where I am, my dad's most likely pissed, I've got barely any cash, I have no idea what's considered normal in the real world. Now the TV show was just some semblance of normal in his screwed up life. All Annabelle had to worry about was some love triangle, not saving the world from a crazy hologram lady who's supposed to be dead. Comparing his relatively carefree, pre-Abstergo life to the one he had now was sobering but he wouldn't change it for the world. All the things he had seen, the people he had met, the acts he had done, it was worth it in the end.

He was brought out of his daydreaming by La Volpe. The thief was having trouble with the can and was alternating between examining the container and giving Desmond the evil eye behind his back, as if it the drink was just a hoax set up by him.

Desmond sighed. Explaining every modern invention he came across was going to be a pain. "Look," he said and brought up his own can, making a show of pulling the tab. La Volpe copied, amazed how something so simple could be so effective.

They both sat on the bed, watching TV. It felt weird yet strangely comforting, chilling out with someone over 500 years old.

* * *

Four days later, there was a knock at the door. Desmond, being the somewhat paranoid person he was, actually bothered to look through the eyehole before opening the door. Then again, when the world's most powerful organization was out to get you, paranoid usually pays off. Three people entered the room.

The spunky, tomboyish female with shoulder length black hair and light skin was Rebecca Crane. Her head was unconsciously bobbing in time with whatever song was blaring out of the headphones perched on her head. Sometimes, it seemed like they were permanently attached to her; she rarely took them off unless she was sleeping and even then sometimes she just fell asleep listening to the mixture of heavy and synthesized music she preferred. Catching Desmond's eye, she smiled, obviously glad that he hadn't kicked the bucket. She didn't seem to care about the untidy state of the room, unlike her colleague Shaun Hastings.

"Only four days and you still managed to trash the place," he said sarcastically in his British accent, just loud enough to be heard from the bed. His bespectacled eyes roamed the room, taking in the unmade bed and the filled paper McDonalds bag being used as a temporary trash can (the food which Desmond had bought using money he'd pickpocketed- like he'd let the two of them starve) before settling on the unfamiliar face on the bed. One day, the historian's inquisitiveness was going to lead to his downfall. It was partly responsible for his kidnapping by Templars and his subsequent induction into the Assassins by Rebecca in 2010.

William Miles, or Bill as some nicknamed him, was Mentor of the Assassins and looked as if he'd aged ten years. Every grey hair, every wrinkle in his face seemed more pronounced than the last time his son had seen him. It was obvious that he had taken Desmond's death hard, despite the bumpy start to their relationship. His eyes softened at the sight of his son.

"Who is this?" said Bill, getting straight to business. Nobody had to ask who he was talking about.

"This is La Volpe," said Desmond.

"Buongiorno ragazzi," La Volpe greeted at the mention of his name. Needless to say, Shaun, Bill and Rebecca were all feeling something between shocked, confused and wonder.

Desmond took a deep breath before explaining everything to the three Assassins, starting from touching the pedestal and ending at their current predicament.

"...and then I called you and here we are," Desmond finished his tale. Everyone had reacted differently to the story. By the end, Rebecca was wearing an expression of unadulterated amazement, Bill was rubbing his chin thoughtfully and Shaun, much to everyone's surprise, sighed.

"I guess that means we're going to have to visit my brother," he said, not looking very happy at the thought.


End file.
